


Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo

by blue_pointer



Series: Dancing in September [1]
Category: I'm Dying Up Here (TV), Iron Man (Comics), Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Bucky-as-Clay, Character Mashups, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Cruising, Disco, Disco Bucky, Los Angeles, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut and Angst, Suicidal Thoughts, drug addict Tony, winteriron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 19:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11928009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_pointer/pseuds/blue_pointer
Summary: What if Tony had been around to party in the 70s? What if Clay Appuzzo was more Bucky-like?Disco and smut. That's what.





	Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo

**Author's Note:**

> I have this theory about why Clay was suicidal...
> 
> Massive thanks and kudos go to [sleepyoceanprince](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fynndin/pseuds/sleepyoceanprince) for making art for this.

Tony was doing lines off the pretty waitress’ perky tits when he walked in. Smoking like a freight train--in more ways than one--the disco god made his way to the bar, leather jacket casually thrown over his shoulder, his butterfly collar a floral pink under a beige three piece. 

Tony wasn’t the only one looking, but he was the only one who leaned so far out to catch a glimpse of that ass that he nearly tipped over the bar stool. It was a cute one, the fabric of the bell bottoms stretched so tight over his glutes that Tony thought he could play them like bongos. Maybe he would.

“Hey, Rocko.” He summoned the bartender. “Get me a dirty martini for that baby-faced stud who just walked in.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Stark.”

The waitress had sensed the fun was over and gone back to serving in the usual way. Tony was pleased to note his handprint on the back of her thigh was still visible from a distance. He glanced back from admiring the shortness of her skirt and happened to lock eyes with Hot and Gorgeous on the other end of the bar. Tony looked away with a sly smile. He was going to reel this one in nice and easy. But not too slow, because the sharks were already circling.

By the time Rocko had finished the martini and presented it to him, a busty girl in a jumpsuit was already chatting him up. Tony didn’t give up hope, though, angel face had cast him more than one surreptitious glance from down the bar, those blue eyes hungry but a little scared, like a wild animal that needed taming and protecting.

Tony’s dick was hard thinking of the possibilities, and he wasn’t going to waste it on just anyone.

Rocko let Olive-skinned and Gorgeous know the martini was from him, and he looked away from the woman just long enough for Tony to give him the sexy smoulder. Unfortunately, lady luck seemed to sense something, because she crawled under the bar and proceeded to give his quarry oral.

That actually worked out okay for Tony, too. Because she was out of sight, and the only thing cutie pie had to look at besides Rocko or his drink was Tony. Who offered a wolfish grin and watched the guy as he tried to keep cool but just ended up with blowjob face. His eyes were more and more frantic when he glanced at Tony.

Tony got the message. With a nod and an inviting smirk, he slid off his barstool and made his way to the men’s room. He didn’t have to wait long. Disco Beauty stumbled in, his fly barely shut, bursting at the zipper with swollen goodness. Tony didn’t even bother going into a stall. This men’s room was a well-known to cruisers.

He opened the poor angel’s fly carefully, though. No need to catch sensitive skin in the teeth of the zipper. Then his reddened cock was pointed straight at Tony, his suffering eyes pleading. “Don’t look now, sugar, but there’s cheap lipstick on your johnson.” He grabbed soap and water and washed him down, stroking. The other man leaned on him gratefully, saying nothing--but didn’t most of them say nothing? Tony was used to that. It was his job to be the talker. With his free hand, he cupped and stroked that sweet ass, whispering filthy nothings into the shell of his ear, hidden behind that glorious mane of hair. When he came, it was almost a noise of surprise. His arms went around Tony, and he held him for the briefest moment before backing away, eyes cast down in shame. Tony kissed his cheeks, his forehead and let him go. This wild beast wasn’t his to keep.

He watched him do up his slacks and move to the sink, look in the mirror like a man who saw a monster’s eyes staring back at him. Maybe that was what made Tony touch his elbow as he turned to go. He offered up the keys to his LP400. “Mine’s the Countach. Meet me there when you’re ready.”

He watched those blue eyes hesitate, and for a moment Tony thought he might actually turn him down. But what man could turn down a Lamborghini? At the last second, when Tony could hold his breath no longer, cutie pie nodded, pocketed his keys, and walked out. Tony counted to 100 before returning to the bar. Cutie was surrounded by women by then, but he was relaxed now, leaning easily back against the bar while they postured and giggled with him. Tony allowed himself a secret smile.  _ Nice try, girls. _

Out on the dance floor, he wasn’t half bad. Tony just liked watching that ass move in his tight pants. But when “Disco Inferno” came on, he had to join in. They weren’t dancing together, it was a dance-off, a dance battle. That’s all it was. Forget that they were looking at each other the whole time, facing one another while Tony broke out all the badass moves Rhodey had taught him, grabbing women at random to dance with and then toss back into the crowd so they could show off for one another some more. At the end, they were both sweating and smiling. God, he had the most beautiful smile. Why did someone with a great smile like that never smile? It made Tony wonder.

He left the dance floor to refuel with alcohol and barbiturates. When he turned back to see who hot stuff had chosen for his next dance partner, the floor was conspicuously missing one beautiful piece of ass. Tony tried not to trip over himself getting out to the car in his excitement. A small voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Howard worried that his car might be gone, Mr. Nice Ass having helped himself to a foreign luxury vehicle. But Tony knew in his gut he would be there.

 

*

 

Clay tried to relax in the close space of the cab. Foreign cars were usually tight, but this was ridiculous. The seat was half-reclined just to fit an adult human under the low roof. He hoped the man with the soulful brown eyes was a contortionist, because he wasn’t sure how this was going to work otherwise. He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose and tried to sync the comforting darkness of the void. 

It must have worked, because Clay didn’t even hear the driver’s door scissor open. He opened his eyes when he felt a second person’s weight settle into the cab. “Have I told you you’re gorgeous?” the man breathed, leaning close to kiss him on the lips.

It scared him. Kissing on the lips was rare. And dangerous. And caused feelings to happen in that deep dark place he’d pushed all the way to the bottom of his heart. The man seemed to notice, following Clay’s gaze out the windshield. “Tinted windows,” he explained. “Don’t leave home without ‘em.”

Of course. Of course they were safe here. The parking lot was dark. He was far away from his usual haunts and those of his fellow comics. And the tinted windows were practically blinds. He let himself relax a little, find the other man’s lips as they descended his throat. His kisses were hard, desperate, having been locked inside him for months, years. The man was kind. Generous with his kisses, with his body. It made Clay tremble, feel naked, exposed in the face of that unconditional kindness. He came up for air, feeling like he was drowning.

“You okay, sugar?” the man asked.

Clay nodded. What could he say? What could anyone say?  _ Fa Napoli.  _ He shut his eyes, focused on the goal. If all went well, soon none of this would matter. This raging self-hatred. This silent screaming anxiety.

The man’s calloused hand touched his cheek, bringing him out of his meditation. “I’m not gonna ask you what you’re thinking.” From the look in his eyes, he already had an idea. “Because tonight isn’t about thinking. Tonight’s about the two of us, having fun, right here...in this car.” He reached for Clay’s fly, and he heaved a sigh of relief. Fucking was the best way to not talk. And with strangers--especially guys--Clay didn’t suffer from failure to launch. Hell, he’d come all over this guy just earlier tonight. Something about him, so sexy. Maybe it was that smirk. Maybe it was…

The man sighed, almost a moan, as Clay reached down and cupped his ass with both hands. “Wow.” That was quite an ass.

The man smirked. “Thanks.” He kissed Clay again, stretching up to meet his lips, back arching. Clay tugged him into his lap and leaned back. Suddenly the seat was all the way back, and he laughed in surprise. “What, you think I don’t know all the tricks to fucking in my own car?” he grinned.

“No.” Clay shook his head, returned to those giving lips. His clever fingers were stroking him through his slacks, and Clay just wanted them off, off, off. But the doe-eyed man seemed to enjoy teasing him. “Please,” he begged, when it was starting to get painful. The man grinned, unbuttoning his shirt, slowly, kissing his way down Clay’s chest to his navel, teasing his glory trail.

Finally his fly was open, the waistband low on his hips, and he was sucking Clay’s cock with abandon, the loud wet sounds of his pleasure filling the car. He gasped and rocked his hips and cupped the back of his head. The dark curly hair felt good between his fingers. When the tip of his dick disappeared down the man’s throat, Clay couldn’t hold out any longer. He came with a cry, and collapsed against the seat while the man lapped up every last drop.

He just lay there, panting. “Better?” the man asked, somehow managing to curl up against him in the leather seat. Clay wrapped his arms around him and buried his face in his shoulder. He smelled good. Like his dick, but also like scotch and spicy cologne and machine oil. And bills. No one he’d ever met had smelled like money. It was weird and sexy.

Then the man’s fingers were in his hair, and he started to feel sleepy. This was past the time he was supposed to go. He’d never stayed this long after. Seconds were like decades when it came to after-cruising. The man nuzzled him, licked the shell of his ear. “Hey, handsome. You’re not in a hurry, wanna help a guy out?” He ground his stiff erection against Clay’s hip.

And suddenly it was a burning need. He had to. Often it was the first thing he went for, but the guy had beat him to it. He was a fast little queen. Clay pushed him back into the driver’s seat, leaning down to fumble with his button fly. That was smart. Clay always meant to find button flies. But he couldn’t be bothered to shop for more clothes he couldn’t afford. Then the guy’s pants were open and his dick was in Clay’s mouth, and his eyes closed, blissful. “Oh--wow--I didn’t--hnnnk!” Clay blew him and played with his balls for almost fifteen minutes before he finally came. But he didn’t mind. Sucking dick was such a turn-on, he was almost hard again by the time it was done.

He leaned back against the headrest, watching Clay with tired, hazy eyes. “You’re tripping,” he realized. It wasn’t a surprise, he just hadn’t thought of it earlier.

The man nodded. “I’m Tony.” He was still short of breath, and that was cute. He reached for Clay’s hand, gripping his fingers. “You’re amazing. And beautiful.” He shut his eyes, and Clay realized he didn’t just have pretty eyes, he had a forest of dark, curling eyelashes. Without mascara. Cassie would have screamed with jealousy. “Tell me what to call you,” he breathed. “When I think of this in the shower tomorrow, what name should I be gasping out?”

“Bucky,” Clay answered easily. He’d had this alias for long enough that it came naturally now. “Thanks, Tony,” he said, barely brushing his cheek with his fingers. Then he popped the door open and climbed out, walking back toward Melrose.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank and blame the nice folx over on the winteriron discord channel for this, especially [sleepyoceanprince](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fynndin/pseuds/sleepyoceanprince), [mitochondrials](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mitochondrials/pseuds/mitochondrials) and Selena and everyone else who let me inundate them with gifs from I'm Dying Up Here this morning.


End file.
